Love Bug
by Nirianne
Summary: IDW Verse - Starscream is attacked by a mysterious pink powder and the end result is nothing but terrifying; his personality did a one-eighty and oh, he's nice now. And what's worse, he seems to have fallen head over heels for the Cityspeaker, too. R&R!
1. Love Bug

**A/N:** Hi. I'm not sure where this story came from but, eh, yeah. It's written. This is a parody, so, don't think too much into it. People might seem a little OOC or things might be cliche here and there, but I'm not going to go overboard. So, don't worry about that.

Anyway, this story takes place in the IDW comics universe with no specific tie-in to the actual comic itself.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Summary:** IDW Verse - Starscream is attacked by a mysterious pink powder and the end result is nothing but terrifying; his personality did a one-eighty and oh, he's nice now. And what's worse, he seems to have fallen head over heels for the Cityspeaker, too. R&R!

* * *

 **Love Bug**

"Eh, between you an' me, ya know life is pretty messed up, if ya what I'm sayin'. Life is weird, throwin' all sortsa weird stuff at cha and you won't even see it comin' and sometimes, strange things happen like you wouldn't believe! Let me tell you a story about our glorious leader who got blessed by lady luck."

* * *

If there was one thing the glorious Ruler of Cybertron despised, it was paperwork, and _lots_ of it. Starscream stared bullets at the mountain of paperwork dumped on his desk in the last minute; didn't he specifically request hedid _not_ want to be disturbed today after a disastrous—no, wait, explosive—meeting? Primus, he spat mentally. He didn't even want to think about today's screaming matches. Everyone who surrounded him were complete morons, to one degree or another. No one seemed to possess the mental capacity to do things accordingly or orderly.

What was the human term again? Adulting. Yes. His colleagues _clearly_ lacked the capacity to adult today. Urgh.

Starscream leaned back into his chair and wheeled around, red optics landing on Iacon. The city suffered greatly during the last millions of years and it was a feat Iacon didn't burn into the ground. Well, that remains to be seen in the future, he theorized.

"Aw, what's the matter? Chip on your shoulder?"

"Why are _you_ here?"

He listened to a playful laughter. "You do realize you can't rid of me, Starscream."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," The mech in question lazily responded. Red optics glanced over to the side and lo and behold, there was a bright yellow ghost Autobot next to him who oddly enough, was in a chipper mood.

"Are you still having second guesses on being Cybertron's ruler?" Bumblebee asked.

"Sometimes, yes. But, most of the time, I couldn't care less," The seeker responded. He was the Chosen One, declared by the titan, and he was going to steer Cybertron a path of prosperity. Or at least, he'd try to.

Bumblebee glanced over to the stack of datapads on the verge of collapsing. "You'd better get working on those," he pointed to the obvious. "You don't want more stacks now, do you?"

"Of course not!" Starscream growled. "I'll work on them _soon_."

"Ah, procrastination."

"Can it."

"I'm just stating the obvious."

Sometimes, Starscream wanted to knock himself senseless and wake up again without Bumblebee, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Breathing out an annoyed sigh, the seeker wheeled around to face the stack of datapads. He didn't want to read the reports about sudden power outages, robberies, or bots behaving badly. It was the same old garbage everyday and quite frankly, it became overwhelming at times. Also, who the hell cares?

"Bah," he exclaimed. "Fine, I'll start working so you can shut your excessive trap,"

Bumblebee simply grinned at the remark.

* * *

Three hours. It took Starscream three bloody hours to sift through garbage upon garbage of reports filed by possibly everybody on Cybertron. He groaned. Who knew playing leader would have consequences? Starscream tossed the last datapad as far as he could; if he saw another datapad, he'd scream. He leaned back in his chair that creaked. Starscream thinned his optics; there were many other things he could have accomplished within those three accursed hours. He could have done so much more but…

"Bah," he exclaimed. "At least it's done. I should get a pat on my back," he said to no one. Bumblebee was nowhere in sight. Great.

The skies were now dark and the stars twinkled in the night's sky. The city of Iacon lit up brilliantly and admittedly, it was a beautiful sight to see. As the seeker was about to push out of his chair, his audio receptors heard a rattle. He paused, looked around, and shrugged it off. Again, as he was about to move, he heard the rattle again. This time, Starscream looked at his table; surely, his table was not boobytrapped. Why would it? Also, who would be stupid enough to play a prank on him, anyway? He was the Ruler of Cybertron! The Chosen One! You get the idea.

He heard the rattle again and he noticed the right drawer on the table shuffled minutely.

"What in the Pits?"

Starscream reached out to the drawer, pulled it out, and out of nowhere, a puff of pink dust shot directly into his face. Starscream bolted out of his chair and growled, desperately rubbing whatever shot in his face off his face. The poor seeker collided into his chair, the table, the window behind him, and the poor dent-free wall. Well, it wasn't dent-free anymore.

" **To the Pits!** " Starscream howled. " **It's in my eyes! What's in my eyes?!** "

That was the least of his problems. The pink powder made its way into the seeker's nooks and crannies and within moments, the dangerous powder drilled into his sensitive wiring and brain. Starscream madly gripped his head while he ploughed across the room with one thing in mind; get to the damned door and summon help. He had just been attacked and he needed help _now!_

" **Curses!** " he spat, seeing nothing but error messages flashing every which way. "I'm going to find whoever did this to me and I swear, I'll make them _pay_."

His determination fueled his confused state only for so long. Starscream managed to make it across the suddenly spacious room and the tips of his fingers were only inches away from the door. Oh so close, but yet so far.

"Damn it all to—"

And boom, light's out. Sweet dreams, Ruler of Cybertron.


	2. Love Bug (Part 2)

**Love Bug (Part 2)**

If there was one word to describe Chromia, it would be; agitated, empowering, and sometimes, downright dangerous. Okay, that was three adjectives to describe the Camien femme, but all for good reason. The femme in question stood by the wall of the meeting room, madly tapping her foot. Why was she agitated? She hated—no, despised—tardiness. If tardiness had a face, she would punch it. Repeatedly.

"You're irritated."

That she was. Chromia beamed at the Cityspeaker, a femme small in stature, but it's something you don't say to her face. She gets upset. The Camien delegate merely smiled at her friend, hoping she'd calm down before she launched a tangent and give death glares to anybody who dared walk past the room.

"Who does he think he is?" Chromia cross her arms and huffed. "Making us wait like this."

Windblade knew exactly who her hot-headed friend referred to. "He's the Ruler of Cybertron," she answered.

Chromia rolled her optics. "A lousy one at that." Also, Windblade's answer sucked.

Windblade smiled. "That you're not wrong. Besides, I guess the good part of his leadership is that Cybertron hasn't exploded."

Chromia thinned her optics and used her fingers to gesture air quotes. "Yet."

"Well, hello ladies,"

The two Camiens whipped around. Surprise, surprise, it was Knock Out and Moonracer. Though, Moonracer's face had seen better days. Something told them she either saw or heard something bad, her usual sweet smile was replaced with a frown. Strange. On the other hand, the (flamboyant) doctor waltzed to them, and like Moonracer, something happened. He seemed particularly upbeat today.

The two delegates from Velocitron sat beside Windblade. Once seated, Moonracer sighed. Chromia and Windblade looked at each other. Maybe it was an intuition—femme's intuition—something was definitely off.

"Hi Moonracer," Windblade greeted. "You seem troubled."

"That's an understatement," The mint-colored delegate replied.

Knock Out scoffed. "She's just depressed about this morning," he said.

"What happened this morning?"

Then, Knock Out turned to Windblade. He leaned forward. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Secret?" Windblade repeated. "Look, if it's sensitive information then I'm more than happy to not hear it."

Moonracer slumped onto the table. "I don't think words could describe what happened this morning, Windblade. I didn't believe my optics until I saw it,"

Now, Windblade's interest peaked. What's going on? "Okay, hold up." she raised her hands and waved them in front of her face. "Did something horrible happen?"

Again, Knock Out scoffed. What's with him today? That's two scoffs already. "Depends on how you define 'horrible', my dear."

Chromia leaned forward and wedged herself between Windblade and Knock Out. Her piercing blue optics drilled into him. "Why don't you cut to the chase and just tell us?"

Knock Out waited for those magic words. Oh, he could barely keep it together after discovering something precious this morning. Well, more like he was summoned to diagnose the problem. The Velocitronian delegate stood up and urged Windblade to do the same; perhaps it was time to reveal his (and Moonracer's) little secret since words could do no justice. Windblade obliged and followed Knock Out out of the room, leaving behind Moonracer to continue slumping and staring into the distance.

* * *

For some reason, Windblade now stood in front of Starscream's office with Chromia and Knock Out by her sides. The Cityspeaker delegate was perplexed; what's going on behind that door? Did something happen to Starscream? Well, of course, something happened and that's why they're here.

Windblade turned to Knock Out, "So, are you going to tell me or not?"

He crossed his arms. "Why don't you go inside and see for yourself?"

"I hope you're not going to pull anything funny," Chromia beamed. She wasn't particularly in a good mood and punching seemed to be the answer. For now.

Knock Out shrugged. "Not at all."

Truthfully, Windblade was done with funny business since the Acrolight incident. She was busy person and there were many things she had to tick off on her to do list. Windblade knew very well if she didn't complete them in time, she'd get an earful from Starscream. And the last thing she needed was for him to berate her like it was no big deal. It was normal for him to spit out toxic and degrading words without giving a single damn how words stung more than bullet wounds.

The femme breathed out a sigh and entered the room. She didn't expect to spot Ironhide at the center of it.

"Ironhide?" she called out his name prompting the veteran Autobot to spin around. She walked to him and asked, "What's going on?"

"That." The red Autobot sidestepped and pointed to Starscream's frame plastered on his table and surrounded by datapads. It looked like he swum in them. Did he love work _that_ much? _Dear, Solus Prime._

Bumblebee stood next to the table and used his cane to jab the sleeping seeker. Not to awake him of course, but for fun. Obviously.

Windblade wasn't sure what to say or react. She knew Starscream and to see him passed out like this? Unusual. Disturbing. Wrong. "Starscream's asleep on the table." She pointed out the extremely obvious. "How is this a matter of security?"

"Come with me," Ironhide marched to the table and picked up datapad. He gave it to Windblade. "Please read this and see if anything strikes out as suspicious."

And she did. Her blue optics scanned the datapad, finding nothing unusual—And then the color on her face drained to the floor.

"Ironhide, what is this?" she asked, beaming at the inscriptions and hoped the veteran could answer.

"It's a love poem for you," he stated flatly. "Don't you find that strange?"

Well, yeah, duh. "Uh-huh."

"That's only half the story," Knock Out invited himself in and waltzed to the two. The red sports car scanned the room until his optics fell on Starscream. "Moonracer and I were called in this morning to check on him after Rattrap informed me Starscream failed to return to his quarters last night,"

Windblade crossed her arms. "Right. So, he worked himself to death, fried a couple of circuits, and wrote a love poem." And she paused. "That last part sounds very unStarscream-like. _Sweet Solus Prime, he despises me more than anything._ "

Knock Out scoffed. "Him? Working himself to death? Please. If it were up to him, he'd rather take a bullet than to lift a single finger to do work." That was true (but citation needed.) The medic made his way to Starscream's sleeping frame. "When I examined him, I found traces of a foreign substance on his face."

"Foreign substance?" she blurted.

The medic nodded. "I don't know what it is, but it's been sent to the lab. Wheeljack is analyzing it as we speak and we'll get the results eventually. What's this pink stuff on his face? I don't know." Knock Out shrugged. "I'm a doctor, not a scientist."

Windblade frowned. So did Ironhide. Bumblebee continued to jab Starscream with his cane.

Knock Out tapped the side of his helm using the tip of his finger. "I think, but don't quote me on this, but I think this substance is responsible for the sudden change in his demeanor. Hence, the sudden _affection_."

Windblade's arm crawled. So did Ironhide's. Dear, Primus. Dear, Solus Prime.

"I guess it remains to be seen if my theory's correct," Knock Out concluded. "Right now, we'll just have to wait for him to wake up."

"Long story short; Starscream was attacked and nobody knows who or why they did it," Ironhide piped up. "My team and I will do a full sweep of the room to find out if the room's been compromised. We'll get on it ASAP."

Windblade lifted up the datapad and read it again. It was addressed directly to her and the written words were all poetic-like. Sweet Solus Prime, it made her skin crawl horribly. Since when Starscream had the capacity to use such _flowery_ language? No offence, but it didn't quite go with his face and overall demeanor. Why? It was _Starscream_. Think about that.

Bumblebee's gaze remained fixated on Windblade and he couldn't help but smile.

"Maybe the unexpected change might help both of you find your middle ground," he spoke. "That is, _if_ you both are willing to do it civilly without the screaming matches. Would be nice, don't you think?"

* * *

Ironhide and his team checked through every nook and cranny in Starscream's office and found no traces of forced entry or any funny business. Ironhide leaned against the wall and pinched the area between his optics. What was he missing? The old Autobot looked around the room and hoped the room would speak to him. Nada. There was nothing to say, the room told him.

"What the hell am I missin'?"

"It's your patience, that's what."

Ironhide whipped around. Chromia leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed firmly in front of her chest. The Camien's blue optics were already on the move, scanning the room for clues Ironhide possibly missed. She made her intentions clear the moment she stepped into the room. Before Ironhide talked, she gestured him to zip it. She was working. He obliged. Chromia, like Ironhide, knew something was _wrong_. Or in more fashionable terms, messed up.

Chromia beamed around the room and noticed the _very_ obvious; the doorframe wasn't forced, the windows were spick and span, and the carpet suggested there wasn't a struggle last night. Chromia marched to Starscream's desk. As per expected, there were a stack of datapads all over the place and… Huh? She leaned forward and thinned her optics; well, what a surprise.

"Ha." she voiced. "I got something."

"You did?"

Chromia was proud. The femme leaned forward and beamed at the strange, pink powdery substance that stained the edge of the metallic drawer. "There's something here. Check it out,"

Ironhide did as she commanded. He walked over. His optics followed her slender finger that pointed to the drawer in question. He blinked. "What in the—"

He gently pulled the drawer and heard a puff. The two looked at each other and Chromia, being ever so resourceful, picked up the chair behind them and aimed. In one forceful yank, Ironhide pulled the drawer out expecting to get ambushed, but, he didn't. Chromia peered over his shoulder and Ironhide stared at the open box in question with the culprit inside; it was the pink powder. The box was set up in such a way it boasted simple-to-assemble mechanism that could be set up by anyone. Long story short; it was booby-trapped.

But _who_? Who was smart or stupid enough to risk setting this up? If so, what were their motives?

"Is this it?" Chromia asked as she placed down the chair. "Is this the cause of Starscream's misery?"

"I think so." Ironhide lifted the box close to his face and thinned his optics in intrigue.

"I wouldn't put it so close to your face, you know."

Ironhide glanced over to Chromia. "Ya worried 'bout me?"

Chromia scoffed. "Hardly."

He had to smile. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

She rolled her optics. "So, now what do we do?"

Ironhide delicately closed the box and turned to her. "I'm gonna give this to Wheeljack. He'll know what to do with it." In response, Chromia frowned. "Why the long face?"

"What if he couldn't figure it out?"

Ironhide warmly smiled. "Wheeljack's a brilliant Autobot, Chromia. If anyone could figure what's goin' on, it's Wheeljack."

"If you say so,"

Chromia was nonetheless not convinced, but what better option did they have? At the moment, their options were extremely limited and last she heard, most of the brainy Autobots were somewhere in space. But, like Ironhide said, Wheeljack would have to do.

* * *

Windblade realized she stared at the ceiling for the past twenty minutes and now, going on to twenty-one minutes and four seconds. Since her arrival to Cybertron a long time ago, there's never been a dull day. Well, that's both good and bad, she supposed, but nothing like this. The Camien femme rubbed the sides of her face with her hands before she pushed off the recharge berth.

 _Lying around isn't going to do me any good._ She thought. _I have to go outside and get things done. Yay. Work._

That was true. She hadn't visited Metroplex today, given the unusual start to the day. Windblade hopped off the berth and the moment her door slid open, she collided into something, or rather, _someone_.

"Yo."

Windblade looked down; it was none other than Starscream's personal lackey. "Rattrap." she spoke. "What do you want?"

"The Boss wants ta talk with ya," Rattrap gestured. "Like now."

" _He's awake?_ Tell him I'm busy," she huffed. "I need to get to my duties,"

"Eh, sorry, sweet cheeks, but no negotiations." Rattrap blocked Windblade's doorway with his arms and legs.

She rolled her optics. "Really?"

Then, Rattrap fell on his knees. Well, this was new. He slapped his hands together and begged. "Please! Please! I'm beggin' ya! If you don't see da boss he'll—!"

"He'll what, dear Rattrap?"

Windblade and Rattrap turned to the side. Windblade's mind short circuited. Rattrap's jaw dropped onto the floor. Standing with grace and confidence was Starscream, holding a bouquet of beautiful red and blue roses, picked (and delivered) from the farthest reaches of the nebula to give to his beloved Camien.

"Well, good morning, Windblade,"

"I—"

Windblade whipped around and Rattrap had hightailed out of there. Thanks. She turned back around and the bouquet of roses was delivered into her not-prepared hands.

"How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," she responded. Then, she looked down at the roses. "Um, these are nice."

Immediately, Starscream's face lit up in absolute glee. "I'm very happy you like them, Windblade." Dear, Solus Prime; the sincerity in his voice was unusual.

"I—er—have to get to work now. Metroplex calls. Heh, Cityspeaker duties." As she was about to walk away, Starscream got in her way.

"May I accompany you there?"

"No, really, it's fine. I can go there on my own. I appreciate the help."

"But I want to keep you safe!" he exclaimed. "Who knows what thugs lurk in the shadows, ready to do you harm?"

"Errr, no offence, Starscream, but I don't think—"

Too late, he grabbed her arm and reeled her close. The roses were the only thing that got between them. Thank goodness there was no one around.

He glanced down and looked into her stunning blue optics, "Windblade, my love, please, let me walk you to your destination. Let me protect you from harm."

"Star—"

"Please?"

Dear, Solus Prime. This was embarrassing.

"Alright! Alright already!"

"Marvelous!" Starscream praised. "Here, take my hand."

Windblade beamed at his outstretched hand. This was unreal. This was _surreal_. Starscream, nice? It was like asking Chromia to be nice, which she could, but she _hated_ it. She _hated_ becoming someone she's not, especially when she's asked to play nice and all civil-like. Bleh! On the other hand, here was Starscream, the Ruler of Cybertron, the Chosen One, a person with a strong sense of opportunistic tendencies, backstabbing, beratings, and those were just _some_ of Starscream's not-so-redeeming qualities. Heh, no wonder nobody likes him.

Windblade was used to the mean Starscream. And this? No. This Starscream was _nice_. Genuinely nice. Did it fit him? Heck no. Maybe it was her paranoia, but she felt as if she was getting tricked by him. Starscream was one conniving individual, and she'd be a fool to fall for his tricks.

The Camien breathed out a sigh. Honestly, she wasn't sure what to do, let alone, think. Well, since he was nice (Primus forbid), she could benefit from his niceness. As long as he doesn't berate her or throw a fit, all's good.

"Okay," Windblade finally spoke. "I'll allow you to tag along _if_ you don't get in my way,"

And maybe the world froze over or something, Starscream bowed gracefully, like a prince would to a princess in fairy tales. "Yes, my dear."

Windblade rolled her optics. Whatever. The Camien removed her hand from his grasp and walked down the hallway with her mind fixed on her list of duties to accomplish today, as well as trying to shake off this lovelorn 'Con behind her. Urgh. She hoped—dearly hoped—this was just a temporary setback. If things continued on like this, who knows what could happen? The last thing she—and the Council—needed was for thugs and his enemies to capitalize on this weakness and cause havoc. And honestly? That would be the last thing anybody needed right now.


End file.
